Too Clever For Clocks
by Jade Popal
Summary: To be the Quartermaster is to be the brains of the operation. "Provide for the agents, but never get involved with the field work," that was the rule. A rule Q had always obeyed. He has never crossed that line into the world of his partner- has never wanted to... But now Q is missing. Someone has forced him into that world. And 007 is the prime suspect. Post-Skyfall. No slash.
1. Prologue: Too Clever for Clocks

**Hello! Okay,**

**This is my first James Bond fanfic, so please be ultra nice. And give feedback. LOTS AND LOTS of feedback please. (It makes me write faster... just sayin'...)**

**I just saw Skyfall yesterday and...00Q sort of filled a hole in my heart, and bumped out the plot and the prologue to THIS overnight. But this story is strictly NO SLASH, I REPEAT:NO BEEP: NO WAY, DON'T GO THERE. BACK UP. Good. I stink at writing slash anyway. For now just think of a partner/friendship relationship, maybe some bromance... for now.**

**Sorry the prologue is kind of boring, but I plan on it getting better I swear. I hope to have a long story going here in no time! *thumbs up***

**Enough chatter! Thanking you for clicking on this and I really hope you like it! (By the way, please review! (as if I didn't stress that enough before...))**

_1:23:55 AM_

Or so the small neon-red digital clock in the wall said.

Q sighed as he glanced at it out of habit, and then turned away, remembering the whole point of why he was here. His long fingers, no longer preoccupied with the empty mug beside him which had, two hours earlier, held hot earl grey tea, were posed over the keys of his laptop, his eyes gazing blankly into the bright, burning light of the screen which, in comparison to the darkness of the room around him, had grown difficult to look at. Blinking a few times, the young Quartermaster took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. He had turned off the lights of the entire system- and therefore the whole facility- in order to do his work, and he had programmed them not to come back on until morning.

Q regretted that now.

He had been standing, staring at the screen for nearly -no, _exactly-_ 4 hours now. He functioned better whilst standing, but that didn't stop his legs from eventually cramping up. He was happy, at least, that he had worn comfortable shoes, his second-favorite pair of loafers.

The work gave him no real interest and was not at all difficult- only tedious. He was hardly thinking about what he was doing, his fingers simply typing in the patterns and codes he needed for the task without much care. He had involuntarily muttered, "_Boring….boring…boring..." _under his breath for an hour or so, but this eventually died down and out as even his brain seemed to become numbed by the dull task.

Replacing his glasses, brushing a lock of his dark hair from his eyes, and rubbing his temple for a moment, Q set back to work. His tired, but still quick, eyes darted back to the screen, observing the 72 boxes the screen was divided into. After finishing his previous bit of work, about 80% of these boxes showed clear pictures of various locations around the MI6 facility- footage from security cameras. Each one of these boxes shared the same minuscule time and date. The other 20% still had a dull red glow to them, as the former portion had been doing 4 hours previous.

Q clicked on the next red box in line, tapping his foot slightly on the tile while he did so in an attempt to wake it up. The small noise echoed, bouncing off the tiled walls of the underground facility and jumping back to where he stood at the small table. Q glanced up.

His eyes could not see the room around him very well after growing accustomed to the laptop's glow, but he could see the dim outlines of the parts of the room. The arches which held the room together; many of the stations where other agents (most of them like him) usually sat and worked during the day were present.

The chairs sat, empty. Some desks still had assignments carelessly left on them. But the agents had gone home. Home to families and friends and dinner. Leaving Q on his own.

Q smirked at the darkness. _That's just the way I like it_, he thought. Soon he'd be done. Soon he'd finish with mediocre task of fixing cameras and clocks. Soon, he'd be home at his flat, laptop in hand, with a thick sweater and a nice cup of earl grey…

The comforting thought still in his head, the Quartermaster's eyes drifted back to the screen.

"…_What?_"

As his lips parted slightly to whisper in surprise and confusion and his brow furrowed, Q's face was illuminated by a bright red glow from the laptop before him. Every single box displaying different MI6 corridors and offices was now flashing a sickly, bright red back at Q. The miniscule times and dates seemed to running on fast-forward, some jumping ahead days and weeks, others running ahead a few minutes then rewinding back to few hours ago. No clear, fixed boxes remained.

"_Dammit_!" Q snarled through gritted teeth. He tried typing in a string of code to the first box to make it stabilize.

No good.

He crouched low, dark hair hanging in his face, long fingers flying over the keys expertly, only stopping once to push his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose, and then continue. It wasn't supposed to do this. Glitches in security cameras were _easy_. _Mediocre_. They didn't _repeat _after you fixed them!

"What the hell are you doing…?" Q muttered whilst breathing out, speaking supposedly to the boxes. All of the sleepiness he had felt a few moments before seemed to have leaked out of him. His mind worked furiously, but nothing he typed in, no algorithms or lines of code he pulled from the farthest corners of his mind seemed to help. The digital times still rewound and ran forward as if a child had gotten hold of a universal remote control. Q glanced back at the digital clock worked into the wall.

It was _5:54:54 PM._

No, it was _12:08:36 PM._

And again, _1:23:55 AM._

Looking back at the screen of his laptop, Q could now see that the small pictures, still flashing that sickening red, seemed to be rearranging themselves, flickering out in a moment of static and then popping up in the other corner of the screen, only to then repeat the action again and again.

Over and over. They wouldn't stop. There was no noise but Q felt like his head would burst from all of the flickering, chaotic images which his eyes were locked upon.

_This isn't a glitch, _he thought somewhat frantically. _ Something of this proportion couldn't be caused by a glitch in software—But if not a stupid, STUPID glitch, then _what?

As if in answer to this question, the small pictures stopped glowing red, remaining stationary. The time and date in each box seemed to pause, each one matching and correlating with the next. Q's fingers stopped. He leaned forward so that his nose was almost touching the illuminated screen. The Quartermaster's eyes flicked from box to box, checking each and every time.

And then the screen went dark. Just like that. _Blink._

Gone.

Q was plunged into complete darkness. He froze, breath caught in his throat, head whipping around, arms outstretched like a blind man. The whole room was now pitch black without the single, bright light of his laptop. No lights. Except for…

Whipping his head so fast that he cricked his neck, Q turned to face the digital clock in the wall for a third time. The moment his eyes fell upon it, the numbers started to change again. But as the young man watched them stop, there were not numbers displayed there any longer.

**LI:TT:LE Q**

Q's heart was beating in his throat. He knew this wasn't a glitch—it was a _hack_. Someone was hacking _his_ systems, _his_ laptop. They were inside of the mainframe.

And Q was alone in the entire MI6 facility. Bloody _brilliant_.

The letters went back to their random jumping about, Q's eyes still glued to the clock's screen, it being the only small source of light in the entire room for his eyes to latch onto. Then, letters unscrambled once more.

**SM:AR:TB OY**

No sooner had Q read this than he heard a noise. A long, drawn *_ HISS*, _following by several mechanical *Click*'s. He recognized that sound. All of the doors, worked into the floor of room he stood in, were opening.

The Quartermaster's mind began to race. He was unarmed- he hadn't felt the need to keep a gun with him for clock repairs. It was dark- even as he turned his head, he could see that the digital letters had disappeared from the wall. For once, for the first time, he was _frightened-_frightened of something he could not see, something that could come out of the dark-some_one…_

He was alone. Utterly alone as someone was hacking into MI6. And they _knew_ he was here! But he needed to remain calm. Yes, that was it. He needed to keep calm…calm…

He heard footsteps. Calm, collected footsteps, coming from ahead of him, where the doors were. The _unlocked doors._ His eyes strained to see something, but he himself had made sure to cut off all the lights- every single one. And they wouldn't be on again for another three or four hours.

_Dammit…dammit dammit DAMN IT._

The footsteps seemed to get louder in Q's ears, and he could suddenly feel a presence in the room with him- no noises, but just… a chill on the back of his neck; goose flesh on his arms. The footsteps stopped.

Q knew quite well that he wouldn't get away- that he could _never_ get away- but that didn't stop his mind from trying to think of a way out. He needed something to use as a weapon. Something…

Q reached out his hand, suddenly aware that he had lost his sense of proprioception. He had stepped away from the desk- from his laptop, and he didn't know where he was anymore- where he stood in relativity to them. He stuck his arms out, hardly breathing, quietly groping for something- _anything._

And his fingers brushed something_._ _Fabric_? He explored it. _No, _he thought, _a _shirt. And behind it was a person.

Q snapped his wrist back, stepping away in surprise. Only, before he could get that far, a strong hand had grabbed his wrist. Shocked, Q tried to jerk away from the enemy, but whoever they were had meatier, tougher hands than Q's younger, skilled ones. His hip bumped into something—the table.

Without thinking, Q reached out his other hand, desperate for something he could use as a weapon, despite his head screaming that it was useless. He felt the handle of his mug, his _favorite mug, _sitting on the table_._ He tried to grasp it, but at that moment, another hand reached from the darkness and grabbed the collar of Q's shirt, jerking his whole front foreword. The mug went slipping from his fingers. In a loud _***CRASH* **_he heard in shatter against the tiled floor.

He struggled to move back, to release himself from whoever was holding him, but Q knew it was no good. He had barely passed the basic training and physical tests needed to enter MI6—Q's strengths lay in his brain, not his body. But if he could just release their grip for a second—

The hand pulled Q's collar further forward. He could hear someone breathing only about a foot away from his own face.

"He _said_ you weren't such a clever boy…" He heard a deep voice whisper. "But I don't know…"

Before Q could think, before he could even comprehend what this meant, he felt another pair own hands appeared from absolutely nowhere. One grabbed the back of his hair and gripped it causing him to cry out slightly in surprise and pain. The other clamped something over his mouth.

Q smelled something sweet, and sickly, and before he could even stop his breathing, his body seemed to be relaxing. _Chloroform… _He felt his mind slowly go blank, his legs falling out from under him. The hands seemed to release their hold, letting him fall.

And Q's mind, so brilliant, able to calculate any number of equations, codes, or fields of data in several seconds- able to hack into the most complicated of networks in his sleep- gave up only one last thought has he hit the ground.

_Brilliant._

__**So was it okay? Was Q a bit OOC? Should I rewrite? Is it boring? You can answer all these questions and more by leaving a review!**

** Sorry if this chapter was a bit vague, it's supposed to be like that in suspense for later.**

**Thank you so much for reading my work!**

**And don't worry, Bond's coming...**


	2. Chapter 1: Reporting For Duty, Sir

**Oh my goddess, thank you all for the amazing support you gave me! I couldn't have asked for more positive feedback! And for that, I hurried to write the next chapter for you guys. ^-^**

**Wow, I feel like I need to live up to that first prologue. I did my best! Oh and I apologize for any inaccuracy when I talk about MI6's security, hardware, or procedures. I can barely boot up a computer and have NO IDEA what a top-security spy/espionage base's hardware systems are like- just so you know! :D **

**Thank you for reading and all of your lovely reviews, follows, and favorites—they're always welcome (*cough cough* **_**reviews **_***cough cough*).**

**Chapter 1**

**Reporting For Duty, Sir**

_What…_

…_The…_

…_Hell?_

James Bond's eyes snapped open as his head was filled with a rather loud, high, unpleasant ringing. His mind, just awakened from a peaceful sleep and still clamoring to collect itself, did not function for a moment, allowing James to merely stare at the rooms' ceiling as the din continued. Finally, he blinked. Silently swearing, he rolled his head towards the source of the sound.

On his bed stand, not two feet from his ear, was a telephone. In fact, he discovered, it was _his telephone_. His telephone which had a _private line_. A small light built into the metallic grey side was flashing red on and off as the ringing began and ceased every few seconds; as if the noise on its own was not enough to alert the owner to an incoming call.

Groaning, Bond propped himself up on one elbow, causing the sheets to slip slightly down his bare chest. His brow furrowed as he stared, unblinkingly at the phone as it produced a shrill ring every few moments. He stayed like that for a moment, contemplating the object as if it were something strange and unknown.

Bond smirked.

Sitting up, throwing off his sheets, and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Bond calmly walked across the room, away from the telephone. He rubbed his eyes as he made his way towards the private bathroom, grabbing a towel from a pile on the floor on the way.

Bond didn't seem to be paying much attention to the loud ringing behind him as his bare feet padded across the polished wooden floor. He smoothed his hair which had been tousled in his sleep. Reaching the door leading to the bathroom, Bond draped the towel around his shoulders. As he shut the door behind him, he barely seemed to notice that the shrill noise had finally ceased mid-ring. He was not concerned with whatever information the person on the line had intended for him.

The phone **had** rung and that was all that mattered.

It was Bond's private line. Only _one_ person could call from that line, and for only _one_ reason.

Bond had an assignment. An _urgent _assignment.

And he knew that Mallory- or, should he say, _M-_ did not like to be kept waiting by 007.

00700

About forty-five minutes later, 007 walked briskly across the lowest level of the parking garage which lay below the MI6 facility. Having just driven through London and entered the entrance to the newly-located facility, Bond surveyed the wide, grey area which had been built only a month previous. There were already many different vehicles scattered about- but Bond noticed that not a single person- agent or otherwise- seemed to be arriving at the same time as he did. There was no movement, no shadows on the dull walls.

The only sound that could reach his ears were the echoing *_taps_* of his black leather shoes against the cement.

It briefly occurred to Bond that something might be wrong.

He was coming in early; and there were never _this _many people at work this early in the morning. Even if other agents had been called in the early hours as well, Bond had never had to experience a walk through the long parking garage without a few men from the Research and Development Division parking sloppily and grumbling loudly about lack of sleep. But since Bond had no problems whatsoever with this new silence (and, in fact, preferred this change), these points wandered from his head.

Straightening his cuffs and fixing a crease in the bottom of his jacket, Bond finally reached the whitewashed double-doors at the far end of garage. Pushing through them, he hurried up a short flight of stairs and through another set of frosted glass doors, into the main MI6 facility.

As he hurried through the main lobby- a high-arched, tiled room filled with various cluttered workstations, some of which were already inhabited by agents- 007 directed himself left, towards a flight of stairs which led, eventually, to M's office. He noticed, in passing, that, although some people seemed to have come in early and were already working, there had definitely been more cars in the various levels of the parking garage than there were agents in the facility. Bond shrugged it off and continued walking.

But his eyes caught a glimpse of something. He stopped.

Various agents and personnel seemed to be gathering in a corridor leading out of the lobby and up a floor, to where the Research and Development Division was housed. Bond saw guards standing in the hallway, letting various operatives in and out whilst stopping others in their tracks and redirecting them to another area of the building. Some seemed to be complaining about this treatment; others gave questioning glances, but complied with the guards' orders to stay out of the broad corridor.

Bond thought of asking one of them what was happening.

But then he remembered the phone ringing. Mallory would make all sorts of threats if 007 didn't arrive soon. Besides, the engineers and big-shots in the Research and Development department probably had some new "fantastic" project going on which they didn't want agents interfering with or something. Turning away again, 007 hurried towards the various tunnels and corridors leading to M's office.

00700

Bond smirked when he saw M's face.

"007, reporting for duty, Sir," he said, letting the glass door swing closed behind him.

Mallory was standing behind his desk; arms clasped behind his back, observing the few early risers from the division a floor below on the other side of a large pane of glass. His arm was no longer in a sling as it had been a several months ago, and his hair was combed back in a tidy fashion. He wore an expression of extreme annoyance on his face, yet still had an air of being calm and collected.

As Bond spoke, he did not look up at his agent, but merely stated, "You didn't answer your phone."

Bond walked across the room. "I figured I'd save you the trouble of explaining it all in one breath. Besides, I just couldn't _wait_ to get here while half of London is still sleeping." He sat down in the chair opposite M's desk, crossed one leg over the other and stared at his employer's back.

Mallory sighed. "We've got something for you."

"I gathered as much."

M was silent for a moment. Then: "It's in the file."

The agent looked down on M's desk. Between a line of fountain pens and a small stack of color-coded papers, there was a manila folder sitting there, facing Bond. On its' cover, in slightly diagonally writing, **MISSION FILE**was written. He took it in his hands, and noticed that it felt lighter than usual case files. He opened the folder.

Staring back at him was Q.

An entire sheet of paper had been taken up by a black and white photograph of 007's quartermaster. Judging by the stark white background and the blank expression on the boy's face, this was his profile photo on file with MI6. His dark, curly hair was slightly shorter, but other than that, Q's young face looked exactly the same as Bond had last seen it several days ago.

007 had been caught by surprise at seeing the familiar face in his case file. His mouth opened slightly and his brow furrowed in confusion as he stared down at the young man's face. His eyes darted to M's back, then to the photo of Q, then back again.

"_Q_?" Bond questioned. "Sir, I don't-"

"Last night," M interrupted, turning around and sitting down on his side of the desk, "Time unsure. Your quartermaster, or _Q,_ went missing from inside this facility."

Bond's eyes widened slightly, but he kept the shock of this news contained.

"Missing?" Bond repeated.

M's eyes met Bond's. "Gone. Vanished. Although, as you'll see if you'd care to read the file, there were signs of a struggle found early this morning to suggest he was- well, for lack of a better term, I suppose- _kidnapped, _or taken by force."

M waited for a reaction- _any _reaction. After all, it _was _Bond's quartermaster. But when Bond didn't speak Mallory leaned back in his chair slightly and continued. As he spoke, Bond read through Q's file (noticing how some information, including the quartermaster's name, had been blacked out) at top speed.

"Last night there was work that needed to be done on the facilities' system. Something about a glitch in the hardware according to the Q Division- security cameras have been on the fritz for a few days, computerized locks were malfunctioning, the clocks aren't running correctly, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera." His eyes went to the file in 007's hand. "Your quartermaster was assigned the job of correcting it- fixing it overnight when everyone had gone home and the building was deserted."

Bond's eyes flicked up and rested on Mallory, an eyebrow cocked. "_Clocks_?" he asked disbelievingly. "You had _Q_ working on _clocks_?"

There was a small pause. Then Mallory looked away. "Yes, well…Anyway, Q agreed and said it wouldn't be a problem. The facility was evacuated completely last night and Q was, we believe, the only one left in the entire building. Personnel from his department have confirmed that they saw him there as late as about 11:15 PM, but that was when the last agent left. After that, there's a blind spot until this morning-"

"'Blind spot'?" 007 interrupted. "We don't have any surveillance at _all _on him? Nothing was-"

But M interrupted this time, a slight bit in his voice from being interrupted. "For Q to succeed in his work the entire system had to be down temporarily, otherwise every siren and lockdown drill in the place would be going off at once from his changing the hardware around. Exterior security was left up, as far as I know, so that we wouldn't be totally out in the open. _But_…" M paused for a moment.

"Something went wrong," Bond finished his sentence.

Their eyes met again in a moment of understanding. Then Mallory sighed and continued. "All we know is that this morning, 007, your quartermaster was gone. The security didn't come back on until about 4 o'clock this morning- Q must've programmed that in- and it was still unrepaired. Camera footage is scattered, but I have people combing it for anything that the exterior cameras may have picked up; although _they're_ being as bloody uncooperative as the ones in here."

Bond closed the file. "They just _walked in_?" he asked. "Someone just walked in and-"

"The accessible records we were able to find online showed a period, no more than a few _minutes_, where all systems, both exterior as well as interior, were down. I'm told that _that's_ probably when they 'walked in'. Unfortunately, the records didn't show how or why the wall was lifted."

_The phrase "They Hacked Us" comes to mind_, thought Bond harshly. He found it hard to believe that it really this easy to break into one of the most heavily-guarded spy agencies in the world.

"You said there was evidence of a struggle?" 007 asked, looked up at his employer again.

Mallory glanced back. "Yes, up in the Research and Development 2nd room. I've already got forensics-"

But Bond was already up and out the door.

Mallory sighed. He quickly stood and followed his agent.

**Catch. You. Later (With another update!)**


End file.
